


Paging Doctor Watson

by cat_scratch_club



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John!lock, M/M, Smut, sick day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 22:12:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_scratch_club/pseuds/cat_scratch_club
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock becomes ill while on a case. John, the ever experienced doctor, takes care of him...in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paging Doctor Watson

`Sherlock Holmes' long trench coat flapped against his slender body as he ran through the streets of London. John trotted along beside the consulting detective, both of them on their way to confront a suspect in the case they were working. Sherlock stumbled a little, then stopped altogether, his breathing ragged and labored. “John.” He rasped. “There's something wrong with me.” 

Concerned, the doctor stopped, glancing at Sherlock's face. He was more pale than usual, all of the color drained from his cheeks; his usually dapper, curious face was haggard looking. “I'll say. Sherlock, you look terrible. Do you feel all right?”

“It's my chest. I feel as though there are a ton of bricks resting upon me,” he choked, grasping John's shoulder as he swayed. “My throat is on fire.”

John felt Sherlock's forehead, and the detective whimpered slightly at his cold touch. “You have a fever. We're going back to the flat.”

“What? No! The case!” Sherlock sputtered, standing up and lurched toward the street. “I can do it! I just needed a moment to r-” the detective tumbled forward, collapsing on the slick pavement. His chest heaved violently, then he sat up, knuckles white as he grasped the outstretched hand of his companion. “I'm fine.” 

“You're not. We're going back to the flat, and that's final. Doctor's orders.” John said gruffly, allowing the taller man to lean on him. “I'll make you tea and take care of you.”

“Fine.” Sherlock mumbled grumpily. As pain shot through his chest, twisting like a rusty dagger, Sherlock faltered. He had to admit to himself that he wasn't in a proper state to be running about London on a drizzly winter morning. “But do you promise you won't tell Mycroft? Last time I was under the weather, he sent a governess for me, and she fed me this awful liquid that tasted like fire and broken dreams.” 

John chuckled, imagining a teenage Sherlock being force-fed medicine. “I promise. I'm a doctor, Sherlock; I think I'm more than qualified to nurse you back to health.”

When they arrived at 221B, Mrs. Hudson was ready for them with two hot cups of tea. “I got your text about Sherlock, John. I put some tea on, I hope you don't mind... you boys take care, won't you? Feel better, darling,” she said, patting Sherlock's curls. She set the platter down, bustling away.

Sherlock shivered as John removed his damp coat. “Sherlock, you're burning up; you have to take some of your clothes off.” 

“B-but I'm c-cold!” The detective protested, his slender body shaking as he bounced from side to side. 

John appraised him warily . “Well, all right. You can climb into my bed, I suppose. I took your linens to be cleaned, and I was hoping to have them back by tonight, but that won't do. I'll be in in just a moment. I need to find some cold medicine.”

Sherlock bolted out of the living room, ignoring the clenching pain in his lungs as he hurriedly snuggled himself in to John's soft duvet. “I'm wrapped,” he mumbled to himself, slightly woozy from the smell of John that clung to the sheets.

John entered the room, bursting out with laughter at the sight of Sherlock's face popping out among a sea of blankets and pillows. The detective was completely bundled up. “Sherlock, you have to come out so I can give you medicine. I have to rub this on your chest.”

“No, I'm warm right now.” Sherlock pouted, suspiciously eying the jar in the doctor's hand. “That stuff stinks. I don't want to.” He defiantly twisted his neck further into the blankets, and John couldn't help but laugh as he considered the remarkable similarities that existed between Sherlock and a small child. 

“If you let me put it on you, you will feel better, and I promise I'll let you go back to the blanket cocoon. Deal?” 

Sherlock hesitated as if weighing the merits of the plan. “Okay.” He twisted around in the blankets, making room for John to kneel beside him. With just a little more wriggling, Sherlock was lying beside John, and had pulled off his shirt. 

John tried not to ogle Sherlock's perfect chest; it was nearly hairless, broad, and inviting. Sherlock impatiently eyed the jar, then tapped his fingers along John's leg, prompting the doctor to open the ointment. “Right, then,” John muttered, unscrewing the cap. He spread a dollop between his hands, rubbing it to warm up the gel. Gingerly, he placed his palms on the detective's chest, slowly but methodically rubbing it onto Sherlock's muscular chest. As John's fingers brushed Sherlock's nipples, the detective moaned quietly, twisting his neck away. John stopped, pulling his hands away as if burned by a flame. “I'm sorry! Did I hurt you?” He asked, searching Sherlock's face.

“N-no. Sorry. That just....it felt good. I won't make any more noises.” Sherlock mumbled quietly, a bashful blush spreading across his lightly freckled face and creeping across his high cheekbones. 

“No, it's...fine.” John smiled a little, pressing harder against Sherlock's chest. As he worked the ointment into his partner's pale skin, a surge of confidence grabbed him. Sherlock had closed his eyes, and was gyrating slightly as John touched him. John's fingers trailed lazily down Sherlock's stomach, tracing the outline of his lean muscles, finally stopping at the navel. John remained there, fingers dancing, lightly brushing the detective's pelvic bone, then stopping as Sherlock sharply inhaled, his piercing blue-green eyes staring at the doctor.

The two men stayed like that, staring, for a few moments, before Sherlock grasped John's hand, pushing it further south. Sherlock closed his eyes again, his mouth slightly puckered, as John found his throbbing erection. There was a fumbling in the covers for a few moments, until John was situated atop Sherlock, both silent, unmoving, waiting for the other to make a movement. 

“John.”

“Sherlock.”

They stayed like that for a moment, until Sherlock could wait no longer. He eyed John's pursed lips, trembling with anticipation. He raised his eyebrows, as if asking for permission. John leaned down, and Sherlock could taste the smile on his lips. John was salty, sweet, and he tasted like tea. Sherlock explored each taste in his mouth, slowly sucking, biting, and gasping for breath. 

“John.”

“Sherlock...” John pulled away, still straddling the detective. “Are you sure about this?” 

Suddenly, Sherlock was intensely embarrassed. “Oh, I didn't even think, I'm so sorry... You'll get sick. Why did I even... Oh... Oh.” His face fell, and he ran a hand through his unruly curls, turning away from John.

“No! No, it isn't that, at all! I could care far less about that. I want you, Sherlock. I'll do anything, I don't care if I'm sick as a dog for the next month, because this, right here, right now, is worth it. I wanted to make sure that you were ready. I know you don't, really, you know...” John placed a hand on the side of Sherlock's face, drawing the detective into him. 

Sherlock smiled, again breathing in John's scent. “I don't do this, usually, you're right. In fact, I... I don't really know how.” 

Before he had the chance to become embarrassed again, John interlaced his fingers with Sherlock's. The two men were kneeling, their sweating forms pressed against each other. “That's brilliant!” Sherlock gazed at him quizzically.

“Are you making fun of me, John?” For the second time, he pried himself away from the magnetic embrace. 

“No, God no!” John exclaimed, kissing Sherlock's neck. “I just think it's wonderful. I can teach you. We can explore each other.”

“It will be like an experiment,” Sherlock mused, leaning back as John peppered his torso with sweet kisses. “Oh! That...that's nice. Yes, more of that, please.”

John looked up at Sherlock, grinning as he saw the detective's eyelids flutter. He fumbled with Sherlock's belt for a moment before sliding down his pants. Immediately, he was greeted with the sight of a rock hard bulge in his companion's boxers. Slowly, deliciously, John removed the last layer separating them. 

“Sherlock, is this okay?” John looked up, every nerve in his body begging him to continue. He knew, however, that since this was Sherlock's first sexual experience, he had to be careful not to cross the line too quickly.

“Mmm...okay does not even begin to describe it, John.” Sherlock moaned softly as John gently grasped his cock, licking a bead of pre-come from it's tip. “I-ah! Oh, my. My. Wow, that feels...delicious.”

John smirked, constantly amused by Sherlock's quiet comments. He hungrily licked Sherlock's throbbing shaft, struggling to hold on as Sherlock bucked beneath him. “John... John!” Sherlock locked his fingers in John's blonde hair. Sherlock's hands, thin and nimble, worked their way down John's muscular back, tracing circles as John took him in, gagging slightly as Sherlock brushed the back of his throat. 

“I- John, I feel- I can't- I'm going to- ahh!” The detective convulsed, waves of pleasure ricocheting through his body as his sticky semen erupted onto John's chest. He rolled over, spasms still shaking his body, white hot orgasmic bliss still in the forefront of his mind. 

John sighed, happily nuzzling into Sherlock's chest. He listened to the deep, slightly uneven breaths of the world's only consulting detective as he fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at smut. Please let me know how it was!


End file.
